


playing god

by ink_kettle



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Compromised morals, Dubious Consent, F/F, Human Experimentation, Injections, Medical Kink, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 20:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ink_kettle/pseuds/ink_kettle
Summary: Moira is the captive of Overwatch, and Angela is determined to find out what she has done to herself, through any means necessary.





	playing god

**Author's Note:**

> Never played the game. Wrote this a while ago, don't know how much is accurate. Just a bit of fun.

Moira inhaled. Went through the process of waking, a touch too fast, too sharp. Monitors picked up rapidly with her heartbeat, familiar, beloved machines. There was something holding her, penning her back and preventing her from breathing free. A tingle of excitement burrowed down her spine. Cold against her back – someone had stripped her from her weaponry and armour – but the cuffs, wrists, ankles, head, hips, were padded. They didn’t want her to move, but they didn’t want her to hurt.

She knew this lab.

“I know you’re awake.”

She knew that voice. It had been too long and not long enough since Moira had heard it.

“My dear Dr Zeigler,” Moira purred. She opened her eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light. No use in rushing since Angela was apparently hoping she’d stay awhile. Moira stretched against the restraints as best as she could, feeling them stop her, letting them stop her.

It was hard to truly trap someone who could blur into shadow. Unless they wanted to be trapped, but that was a different matter.

And there she was, the good doctor, as shining as ever. Blonde hair haloed by the white glare of the lab lights, narrowed gaze sharp and wary. Still tense and lithe in her labcoat, keeping up with her training, Moira noted, even after her participation had formally ended with Overwatch. All these old soldiers, worming up from the cracks like locusts returning for a last thirst of summer heat. But neat. Well-turned out, even, hair pinned back and all very lab-safe.

She’d made an  _ effort.  _ Moira rewarded her with a lazy smile.

Angela’s glare was familiar as ever, short with that wonderfully gloating sense of superiority. Moira did wonder how it felt, to be so self-righteously assured that one dressed as an angel of God without any sense of irony or presumption. She turned away, to prep something on a nearby side. Moira caught sight of a syringe.

The monitor skipped a beat of her heart.

“Dr O’Deorain. We have much to do.”

“There is always work,” Moira allowed. She refused to ask, but Angela had to see the curiosity in what she didn’t say. “You’ve not tied me to a table in order that it may be done for a while, however.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be doing much of anything,” Angela said. She returned with scissors, and cut Moira’s shirtsleeve away from her right arm. The metal brushed cool against the poisoned flesh, and Moira stared straight up at the ceiling. She forbade herself a shiver.

The good doctor would notice.

“I didn’t want to do this,” Angela continued. “For the record.”

She was swabbing Moira’s arm now. Each swipe of the sterilising cloth seemed colder and rawer than the last. Tense with anticipation, Moira closed her eyes to await the sting better.

“Liar,” Moira murmured.

“ _ I  _ never lied,” Angela corrected coldly. “But we need to know what you’ve done to yourself.”

“What  _ I  _ have done?”

Moira’s eyes were closed, her attention focused on the chilled area of her sterilised arm. She was utterly unprepared for the good doctor’s hand to press against her stomach, and exhaled, hard. The monitors jerked with sound.

Angela’s hand was very warm through the fabric of Moira’s shirt. It rested, tellingly, on her ribs.

“You’re not getting younger,” Angela said. “Or supposed to be. And I can see that your lab practices have improved none at all – you still don’t sleep or eat. Yet you outrun our agents as if it is nothing. And you have the same abilities as Reaper. If we can undo you, we can undo him.”

“Guilty,” Moira said slowly, breathing against the warm weight of Angela’s hand. It was just there, splayed over Moira’s prominent ribs, crushing her lungs with each fiery breath. “I don’t suppose a good doctor like yourself can simply  _ ask.” _

“I thought you liked experiments, Moira.”

“I thought you  _ didn’t.”  _ Concentrate. The monitors were shaking. So was her heart, which had lodged somewhere down in her breastbone, and ached with each unsteady pound with Angela’s hand still touching her.

“I don’t. But sometimes, sacrifices have to be made for the greater good of everyone.” Finally, Angela pulled away.

“You’ve come a long way since ‘every living being has inarguable worth that cannot be endangered’,” Moira said, and she heard Angela scoff.

Moira’s hands flexed against the cot’s sheeting, wanting the familiar, worn scratch of nail against plastic to ground herself. She felt, instead, the grains of the fabric under the plastic, the immediacy of touch, and her eyes flew open.

“You cut my nails!”

Angela smirked. She was holding the syringe now, and the flash of the point made Moira’s spine feel weak, almost drowning out her anger.

“Of course,” she said smugly. “I needed samples of how growth is affected in either hand.”

“You didn’t need  _ all of them,”  _ Moira muttered, betrayed.

“I thought you’d do anything for science, Moira?” Angela gave her a gloating smile.

“That’s not science, that’s-“ Then the syringe went in, without warning, and Moira’s body was one long exhalation. “An _ gel-ah.” _

“It might sting for a bit,” Angela told her. Like a good doctor, she put a little bandage around it. Mustn’t contaminate a wound. “And after that, it’ll probably sting a whole lot. Just a little something that should prevent you from dropping out on us.”

Moira’s eyes widened, and instinctively, she tried to reach for the shadow, to blur into it and become one. Her arm pulsed instantly with pain, and she hissed appreciatively, squinting up at Angela with new eyes.  The monitors were going wild with Moira's thundering heart, faithfully recording each unsteady breath. Angela glanced at them and turned back, her eyes glittering with triumph.

"Now you're about to know how it feels, I imagine it's wise to be scared," she said, trying for airy.

"You are misreading your monitors, Dr Zeigler," Moira breathed. "I am not afraid."


End file.
